


Once Bitten, Twice Shy

by Bluandorange



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dubious Consent, Loss of Control, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Mind Meld, Murder, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Bucky Barnes, Temporary Personality Override, Trust Issues, mention of prostitution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-05
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-11 20:13:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2081622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluandorange/pseuds/Bluandorange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky finds him face down in a pool of his own blood at the ass-back of an alley, a deep wound in his side and the broken bottle what done it left abandoned not a foot from his head.</p><p>or</p><p>Bucky's a vampire and the first time he meets Steve Rogers, the kid's already got one foot in the grave</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on some RP shenanigans between [ravenously](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenously/pseuds/ravenously) and I.

Bucky finds him face down in a pool of his own blood at the ass-back of an alley, a deep wound in his side and the broken bottle what done it left abandoned not a foot from his head. The kid has no business being conscious when Buck starts pulling him upright, and he certainly shouldn’t be able to look that damn pissed, but he is and he does, and shit, if Bucky isn’t a little impressed already. Sure, his eyes can’t really seem to focus and there’s nothing intimidating about a dying mess of five foot nothing trying to glare a hole into his head, but the kid gets points for trying. He is most certainly trying. 

Bucky glances over the damage—the puddle, the kid’s pallor, the depth of the wound he has to pry the kid’s hand away from to get a proper look at—and thinks maybe if he really hoofs it, he might just get the kid to the hospital in time for them to botch an attempted life-saving surgery. The glass fucked up his guts—Buck can smell it—and that ain’t a simple fix. Kid’s clearly a fighter, but even if he survived being properly cut open, would he survive the recovery? Would they try to help him at all, if it weren’t likely he could pay when they were said and done?

Bucky’s gotta choose something, cuz the longer he sits here, the more certain it is the kid’ll die. Bucky tilts the kid’s head up enough to look into those blue eyes, to see the spark there in, and feels the kid tightening his jaw under his fingers. On the verge of death and still somehow defiant. Bucky can’t help it; it seems like one hellova waste.

Bucky ducks to speak against the kid’s ear. “You’re dying,” he says. The kid’s breathing pauses, starts again with a ragged breath in through clenched teeth. “Yeah, I know, not what you wann’d t’hear, but there’s only one thing for it. Jus’ nod your head for me, if you wanna live. If you really, honest to  _God_ , wanna  _live_.” 

The kid’s almost limp against his side now, head propped on his shoulder. He doesn’t lift it, just gives it one jerky roll, pressing his nose into the fabric of Bucky’s jacket before relaxing again. Bucky smiles into the kid’s dirty blond hair. 

"Okay, kid. Y’got it."

Its easy arranging the kid how he wants him, his back to Bucky’s front, his breath short and weak against Bucky’s neck. He props the kid up with one hand to his uninjured side. The other hand he fits between his own teeth, puncturing the meat of the palm with both canines. The blood hits the air and turns it sweet with power. Bucky pushes his palm into the kid’s mouth. “Drink,” he says. He tips them both back, lets gravity do all the work, knows the blood’s made it down the kid’s throat when he takes in a sudden, harsh breath through his nose and presses his tongue forward for more.

The kid opens his mouth wider then closes again, sucking weakly and pausing frequently to pant against Buck’s split palm. Then he’s sucking harder, the panting transitioning into short moans on every out breath. 

Bucky closes his eyes. He can just about feel it now, the kid’s mind on the periphery of his awareness, coming into sharper focus the more of Buck’s blood he swallows. All he can feel so far is the  _need_  starting to take hold, the instincts and the hunger, the new driving force to his second life, the new core of his being. The kid takes him by the wrist, new found strength aiding a singular focus. The kid presses closer, and a moment later, he shifts his hold and sharp teeth sink into Bucky’s wrist. Bucky laughs and pulls him closer, half into his lap, no more wound to mind as he wraps him tighter in his arms. He can already tell this pup’ll be a handful.

The connection’s strong enough that Bucky tries sending encouragement through it—comfort, reassurance,  _happiness_ —and the last thing he expects is to get in return is  _skepticism_. The kid doesn’t stop taking, he goes tense, grip tightening and mouth working to drink more down faster, like he expects it to go away now that Bucky's promised it _won't_ , and the kid should be  _gone_  by now, lost to the hunger as his body pushes itself to see the transformation through to the end. He shouldn’t be able to get all defensive, especially not over his maker being fucking  _nice_ to him. The trust should be already engrained, but the kid’s will comes in out of nowhere and pushes back against it. Bucky’s so far in his head at this point, though, he _knows_ that the cynicism’s not all what’s there. Even if it’s just instinct, a part of the kid wants to believe in Buck, wants what he’s promising to be true. Bucky plays to that part, nuzzling the kid’s neck as he tells him  _yes_ ,  _its yours, you don’t_ need _to fight it, let go, you’re_ safe  _now_.  _Let go._

The want in the kid bubbles up, Buck feeds it 'til overflows, the tension breaking with a sob wrenched straight from the new pup's throat. Bucky keeps laying on the comfort, laying kisses in his hair. He doesn’t know what this kid’s been through, but even second-hand, the relief rolling off him is overwhelming. The kid pulls his lips free with a wet gasp and turns right around to bury his face against Bucky’s neck, curling up tight against his chest. Bucky hugs him tight enough to ache.

He’s glad he found the kid. He’s glad he’s here for him now, and that whoever he may be, the kid won’t be alone anymore. Now, he’ll always have Bucky. Bucky promises, promises them  _both_ , he's gonna take good care of him. And when his head stops spinning from the blood loss, he's gonna take him home.


	2. Chapter 2

Bucky remembers falling asleep, curled up around his new pup, their freshly formed mental link awash with adoration and comfort. You can imagine his surprise, then, when he wakes up with a set of empty arms and a head full of stormy thoughts and second-hand frustration.

Its the empty arms part that really gets him. Bucky twists up onto one elbow, eyes wide, darting, looking for the kid, who couldn’t have gone far, shouldn’t’ve moved at  _all,_ why would he be away from Bucky, had he seriously managed to fuck this up  _already--_

He spots the kid almost immediately. The kid’s fine, he’s right there, pressed tight into the corner right across from Buck, tense, watching Bucky with sharp and angry eyes but  _there,_  well within reach, and Bucky heaves a sigh of relief. He falls back against the mattress and runs a hand over his face and into the mess of his hair, still tacky with pomade, before shooting another glance the kid’s way. Still angry, still cage-y, still there. 

Fucking brat, freaking him out like that. If he weren’t already dead, that would’ve given him a goddamn heart-attack.

Bucky stamps down on any irritation he may feel towards the kid, careful to keep it out of the bleed. Someone has to be positive; might as well be the one with some experience with mental connections. “Mornin’,” Bucky says, going for casual, like he doesn’t feel the kid's aggravation, like he's  _not_  making a headache build up behind Bucky's temples the longer he goes on. And Christ, is he ever. When Bucky closes his eyes, practically all he feels is that stubborn refusal to be anything but pissed.  _Christ._

"Ready t’hear what the hell this is," the kid says. His voice is a lot deeper than Bucky was expecting. Now he no longer knows how to peg the kid’s age—end of his teens or well into his twenties? Was there room for growth in that slight frame or was he left stunted long before Bucky came along and froze his looks into place? 

Actually wait, go back, how the  _fuck_  is the kid talking _already?_

Bucky doesn’t realize he’s staring until the kid sends a surge of irritation his way, sharp enough to sting. He sets to work on debugging his eyes, tries to figure out where the hell to even start. He thought he’d have more time to prepare, y'know, he didn’t think he’d be waking up into a goddamn interrogation. New turns aren’t supposed to be pissy, they’re supposed to be  _instinct_ , how in the hell—

Bucky clears his throat, tries to clear his head. He can’t get mad at him right back, that’ll just add fuel to the fire and make them both miserable. He’s a fucking parent, now. He’s gotta act responsible like.

“You’re a vampire,” Bucky says. No real other way to put it. He motions to himself with a half-smile. “Mine, since I turned ya.” The kid’s brows draw together, creating a crease right above his crooked nose. The confusion from his side of the bleed doubles, then siphons off into fear and anger equally. “I asked you,” Bucky reminds him. “Y’said yes.”

No dice. Doesn’t seem like the kid remembers that, or else he’s too busy trying to claw together some sort of a front to feel any relief. He’s trying damn hard to keep Bucky from seeing that fear. It ain’t going so well--even if Buck weren’t already in his head, kid wouldn’t have him fooled. Its clear he's terrified.

He’s terrified and the last thing he wants is for Bucky to know it. 

There’s gotta be something Bucky can do. He tries to mentally coax the kid back over to him—they’re better off touching, the sired always feel calmer the closer they are to their sire, especially right off a turn—but the kid rejects the thought immediately. Actively fights it. The fear gets stronger. The kid is fucking _afraid_ of being near him.

Which just plain doesn’t make  _sense._  What’s wrong with this kid’s instincts? Why aren’t they working right? This is seriously opposite of what's 'sposed to happen. Bucky tries again, tries to find the part of him that should be wired for wanting his maker around, and this time when he sends the suggestion along, he notices the split second of  _want_  that goes through the kid right before he slams his will down hard against it. 

The smell of blood hits the air and the kid hisses. Bucky comes out of his head to realize in his concentration, the kid bit straight through his own lip. “Hey, hey, careful with those,” Bucky says, already moving closer. He reaches out to him and kid shrinks away, expression tight, want spiking, want being smothered.

Kid’s breaking his goddamn heart, but Bucky puts on a easy smile for him anyways. He drops his hand and thinks,  _really_  thinks. There’s gotta be a way to fix this. He can see the kid’s afraid of his instincts, which is understandable, though usually not something you deal with on the second goddamn day. Kid’s clearly a special case and clearly isn’t a fan of these new additions to his psyche. To make him comfortable…

Bucky’s smile turns up a little brighter as he offers his hand again. “Should prob’lly introduce myself. Bucky Barnes,” he says. “Atch’r service.” He almost grins when the kid’s mind stills, both surprised and relieved by being offered this little slice of normalcy. He can’t help but grin when the kid jumps at that offer and takes his hand without a second thought.

"Steve—" The kid cuts himself off as their palms fit together, caught off guard by the near-immediate reaction his body has to coming back into contact with Bucky’s. His eyes lose that intense focus as his hold on his instincts slips. His body knows where it wants to be, where its supposed to be. Bucky feels the kid—Steve—think back on where he woke up, tucked close to Buck, and how he felt safe, felt  _better_ , and for a moment Bucky thinks that’s done it, he can pull the kid back in and leave this fear behind for a little while longer. Then the pup finds the will to actually _examine_ his own thoughts, and immediately backslides. Steve was about a second away from leaning in and smelling Bucky's hand, but apparently that's not something normal, sane people do, so out he jerks from that mindset and back to the panic he goes.

Kid thinks something must be wrong with him. There isn’t—scent is important! He’s got a nose for it now, and Bucky should feel, smell,  _be_  safe to him—but Buck doesn’t know how to get that through to him yet. At least he’s still got Steve’s hand. Kid hasn’t pulled away, even though Buck can hear him trying to convince himself he should. “Don’t have to ignore your wants, Steve,” he tries, gently. “They’re there for a reason.”

Another surge of fear goes through Steve, fear of being ‘found out’, of Bucky knowing what it is he’s struggling with. The kid rides that fear, turns it into fuel and finally makes himself snatch his hand away. Steve presses into his corner and crosses his arms, hands tucked under his elbows, like he expects he’ll have to stop them from moving all on their own, next. Now Buck has him mistrusting his own body, _shit._ “A-An’ why’s that?” Steve asks.

Bucky leans back, giving Steve the space he wants. The kid’s grip on himself is tighter than ever, fear feeding the stubborn determination  _not_  to stray again. The  _will_  in this one is just remarkable. How the fuck does Bucky expect to get through to him, now?

After working his fingers through his hair and giving his own scalp a rough scratching, Bucky decides to just shoot straight. Honesty is, apparently, a decent policy, and might be best for a pup as no-nonsense as Steve. “‘Cause I made you,” Bucky says. He settles back on his elbows. “My blood is in you. It builds a connection b’tween us—you can feel me and I can feel you.” The fear’s already rising before he can get out, “its a good thing.”

"The hell it is," Steve says, voice gone breathless. He hadn’t realized Bucky’s mind was there, in his, until Bucky’d said something. Now he’s prodding at the edges and becoming more terrified by the second. 

"This ain’t as bad as it seems," Bucky says. He's gotta get this back under control. "Steve, y'would’a died, otherwise."

On the outside, Steve goes very quiet and very still. On the inside, he turns over what Bucky’s said and then, when it finishes settling, his thoughts fucking explode. He goes a goddamn mile a minute in hundred different directions, blaming himself, blaming Bucky, wanting to argue, wanting to fight, wanting _out_ , wanting to go back to fucking sleep because that was  _nice_ , but he’s so sure that its wrong, he’s wrong, everything's  _wrong_.

The force of it almost knocks Bucky onto his back. The thoughts are so _loud_ , its near overwhelming. God, and if its overwhelming to  _him,_  he can only imagine what it must be like being its source. Before he can think better of it, Bucky’s reaching through the bleed, trying to soothe the kid, to instill calm and reassurance, to promise him, really, he’s  _safe_. 

Steve pushes back. He pushes back with everything he has, forcing Bucky out with a growl; “ _Stop_.”

Its like a physical blow. Bucky grunts, head snapping back, and he complies. “Okay,” he says. He lays back down, suddenly dizzy. “Okay. ‘m sorry. I jus’—tryin' to help. That's all.” 

Steve doesn’t reply. His mind quiets as he catches his breath, face tucked behind his knobby knees. Bucky dares to peek inside and finds Steve unsure if he has it in him to do something like that again. He's hoping he won't have to but, if push comes to shove, he tells himself he's damn well gonna try.

Bucky honestly doesn’t want to give him reason to try. That was. That’s not how things are supposed to work. Pups fighting their maker? Sired versus their sire? That never ends well. Shit like that only ever ends in headaches and tears.

This is not how he expected their morning to go.


	3. Chapter 3

Neither says or does anything for a long while. Bucky stares up at the ceiling without really seeing it, waiting for the light-headedness to pass, while Steve holds himself and relaxes by inches, still stinking of fear, still adamant in his refusal to give in to any of his instincts. Bucky’s not gonna force him to do nothing he doesn’t want to do, but he thinks, as the dizzy bruises over into a headache that sits right behind his eyes, he’s gotta at least try to  _convince_ the kid. Talkin’ ain’t forcin’, he’ll even stay outta the pup’s head while he does it, he’s just. He’s gotta fix this for the both of them. Being at odds like this just ain’t right.

Christ, though, he’s gotta eat first. Its no wonder Buck’s not on his A Game, he’s hungry as hell. Turning Steve took a lot out of him. Literally. And who knows, maybe a drink will help loosen the kid up. In fact, Bucky’s sure it will. Its a good plan; win-win for everyone involved.

Bucky turns to Steve without lifting his head and finds the kid already staring his way with tired eyes, nose and mouth fitted between his knees and blocked from view. “How ‘bout I show you around,” Bucky says, putting on a smile. “We’ll getcha something to…” He trails off as he realizes the fear inside Steve has spiked, intermixed with shame. There’s not much Buck can read from his expression, what with the way he’s covering half his face, so Bucky waits for the stubborn bastard to come out with it, but Steve just stares back cooly and doesn’t say a damn thing.  There’s nothing for it; the only way Bucky’s getting answers is through the bleed. 

The source isn’t hard to find, in fact the shame leads him right to it. Steve’s unsure he has the strength to stand. Bucky doesn’t know about that—he’s a vampire now, that typically means a frankly unnecessary abundance of strength—but he’s not gonna push him and hell, he doesn’t know, maybe being newborn  _has_  left him weaker than most. Not to mention forcing his maker to mentally fuck off—that had to’ve taken its toll. 

And at first Bucky thinks, _‘hey, that’s no problem, Steve can just lean on me’_. But then he thinks again, and he looks into those stubborn blue eyes that are still so defiant, despite the way Steve’s all knotted up inside with fear, and he realizes there’s no way in hell that’s gonna fly. Not only would that mean touching Bucky--something Steve already ain't keen on doing--but it’d mean  _relying_  on him, taking his support, and while he’s not sure how the kid went about finding his pride again so fast, its clear he has, and its twice as clear he’ll go down swinging to protect it. It’s a battle Bucky could win, probably, he just ain’t sure he  _needs_  to.

After all, he could always head out on his lonesome. Bucky’s own instincts are vehemently against this; letting his pup out of his sight right now would be akin to abandonment, and he is  _not_  abandoning Steve. But he can reason that leaving to go get  _food_  is being a more responsible parent than sitting here on his ass, doing nothing. He starts to sit up.

"Arright, arright, you just wait here, I’ll—"

Another spike of panic cuts him off, this one sharper, familiar enough that Bucky’s half sure he knows what it is and why its there without having to delve into Steve’s mind. He does so, anyways, just to be sure.

The reasons for the panic is more complicated, this time. Steve doesn’t want Bucky to leave, and part of that is all instinct; he needs Bucky around, and his need fuels Bucky’s need to stick around, to be a good sire and care for him while he’s adjusting. But Steve’s also afraid of that instinct, afraid of what he’ll do if its triggered in earnest, and that doesn’t surprise Bucky at all. What does surprise him is how aware Steve is of that line, between what he’s capable of resisting and what’ll just be too damn much. Right now, he’s literally put himself as far away from Bucky as he can handle, without the urge to return becoming too strong. It’s there, it’s gonna be there, but its not overwhelming. Steve’s dancing on the edge, and he knows it, and if Bucky moves, he’ll have to follow or risk being overpowered by wants outside his control. And Steve can't follow because, as previously stated, he's not sure he has the strength to stand.

Bucky lays the fuck down again. 

Holy shit, is nothing easy anymore? Bucky rubs his hands over his eyes and tries to reign in his own hunger. Looks like he’s not going anywhere! ‘Least not for a little while yet, anyways. If he’s stuck in bed, he might as well get some more sleep, conserve energy and all that, to keep the need to feed at bay. 

He looks over to Steve, off in his corner, still wound tight but smart enough to catch on that Bucky won’t be leaving him, at least. Kid looks fucking miserable. All because he thinks he’s gotta keep that grip on himself,  _'or else'_. 

"Y’don’t gotta fight it, y’know," Bucky says. "It’ll weaken on its own, ‘s jus’—you’re newborn. Wanna stay near your maker. We’ll getcha something to eat later, and you’ll feel better. I promise." 

Steve glares at him, utterly petulant, and although Bucky doesn’t  _need_  a translation for that glare, he gets one. Steve’s thoughts ring out loud and clear, pointed right at Bucky though he doesn’t think Steve’s  _meaning_  to shoot shit his way. He’s just angry and fucking opinionated. 

 _Apparently_  calling him ‘newborn’ was insulting, as apparently Steve is _'a grown goddamn man’_ , and goddammit, that’s not even what Bucky had  _meant_ , but  _fine, you know, whatever_. And Steve is vowing he’ll wait the instincts out, and god is he that prideful and  _stupid_  and—

"Y’ll be waiting at  _least_  a week,” Bucky says. Steve’s head is  _exhausting_. How is Steve not exhausted? Its so  _loud_ in there. "Its not bad, it’ll help ya transition. I swear you can trust me, jus’,” he motions to him, waving him closer, “come lay down.”

Steve sits up a little straighter, taking his chin out from behind his knees to level Bucky with his sharpest glare yet. “I only sleep with joes who pay.”

Bucky stares at him a moment. There’s not a shred of bullshit to that statement. Steve said it cuz he meant it and cuz he wanted to make Bucky fucking uncomfortable. 

Bucky laughs, breathy and surprised, and covers his face with his hands. Oooh Jesus, what the fuck has he gotten himself into? What has he done, going and turning this kid?

Done the world a fucking favor, that’s what. Clearly Steve was wasted on the living. 

"Ain’t got a lotta money, honey," Bucky says, dropping his hands to look to Steve with a wide, honest smile, "but I promise I’ll be sharin’ every cent of it with you." Steve watches him, still and apprehensive and incredulous. He pushes on, "What’s mine is yours, as of last night. I mean it. I turned you cuz I plan on taking care of you." 

The thrill of want that passes between them, from Steve to his sire, it ain’t instinct. It’s the same want born of loneliness he felt when he was turning the kid, still lined with an edge of disbelief, cuz Bucky ain’t sure Steve’s used to things going his way. He’s expecting a catch. He’s expecting this to cost him and yeah, even Buck’ll admit in a way, it already has. 

But Steve wants someone, and Bucky’ll be that someone, if he lets him. He won’t take nothin' Steve doesn’t wanna give, but he’s gonna give whatever Steve’s willing to take. 

Steve’s resolve is starting to unravel. Buck doesn’t need to peek into his head to see it, its there in the set of his shoulders and the wide look of his eyes. "You’re so damn stubborn," Bucky says, softly and low and fond. "C’mon. Jus’…take a load off, already. Lay down?" 

"…yer not gonna try anything?" Steve asks. He sets his jaw, the look he levels on Buck a warning, even as fear coils tight in his narrow chest. Steve isn’t afraid he won’t be able to stop Bucky should he get fresh, he’s afraid he won’t _want_ to. Bucky’s got a lot of trust to earn, though he wishes Steve would just learn to trust _himself_ …

"I’m not gonna try anything," Bucky says. He rolls onto his back and splays his arm across the mattress, offering Steve his shoulder as a pillow. Steve drops his eyes to Bucky's open palm. The wheels turn and his breathing starts to whistle through his nose. Buck’s own breath’s gone shallow—he’s trying to act relaxed, but fuck, its finally gonna happen and Bucky wants it, just as much as Steve wishes he didn’t. Complimenting instincts. Bucky’s gotta take care of what’s his. 

And he likes Steve. It doesn't hurt that he's just this side of dizzy for him already. How much of it is instinct and how much is Bucky's own easy nature, he ain't sure, but ain't like Bucky to wonder anyhow. He takes what his heart gives him and trusts it to be true.

So Bucky waits, wanting, watching Steve. One moment the pup's poised like a spring, wound tight and trembling with the effort to be still, then the spring snaps and he’s propelling himself forward and pressing himself tight against Bucky’s side. Bucky takes him in immediately, wrapping him up in his arms and pulling him close to his chest, nose pressed to his hair as Steve pants into his shirt front, the kid winded from relief, relaxing by another degree on every exhale. Steve still hates it, Bucky knows. He’s still clutching to that scrap of self that says this is _stupid_  and  _unsafe_ , but at least he’s  _here_ , and after a minute his breathing has slowed and he’s melted into Bucky, warm and right, if still so very  _loud_. 

"Yer safe," Bucky says. He strokes at the small of Steve’s back; Steve fists his hand in the fabric of Bucky's shirt, the same as he had while he was sleeping. “‘s okay. Go ‘head and turn that noisy brain off; we’ll get s’more sleep." 

Steve adjusts, pulling himself closer until he’s just about nosing at Bucky’s throat and thinks every loudly that he’s not loud at all and that Bucky is weird. 

Bucky snorts into his hair. “I’m not weird—yer such a _punk_.”

Steve sucks in a sharp breath and goes rigid.

Shit.  _Shit_. Had he not grasped what a mental link meant? Did he think it was just impression and not fully formed thoughts? Because that last part seems to really fuck Steve over, he does  _not_  want Bucky knowing what he’s thinking, but there’s not much Bucky can do when he’s practically shouting at him most of the time.

"I don’t have to hear everything," Bucky says quickly. "You’ll get the hang of it soon. It’s fine." He strokes the base of Steve’s skull, trying to sooth him. Steve relaxes, despite himself. He glances up to Bucky and Bucky puts on a reassuring smile. Steve’s eyes flutter away as he swallows back another rush of fear. Bucky presses his cheek into Steve’s hair and sighs. "It’s okay, Steve. What’re you so  _afraid_  of?”

Steve pointedly doesn’t say a damn thing, but he projects distrust, as he assumes Bucky will abuse the privilege of their shared head space and use Steve thoughts against him. And then Steve sets his shoulders and starts doing fucking  _arithmetic_ , because fuck Bucky, apparently. _Oh, you can read my thoughts? Let me make that trick useless._

As amusing as it is, it doesn’t last long. Steve can’t focus, between exhaustion and hunger and natural urges, so his recitation of times tables quickly dissolves into complaining about his inability to recite times tables. 

Bucky huffs out a sigh. At the rate he’s going, he’ll likely wear himself out. Bucky waits, continues his slow, soothing touches and eventually Steve’s mind starts to settle all on its own, focus shifting from his struggle internally to the affection he’s receiving externally. Soon his thoughts begin to circle, becoming repetitions of  _'that feels really good'_  and  _'wish it didn't'_  and  _'fuck, I'm tired'_. 

"You  _can_  sleep, y’know,” Bucky says. He hadn’t meant it as permission, but that’s how Steve takes it. And he  _takes_  it. He lets out a heavy sigh and relaxes, flooding the bleed with relief. Bucky listens to his breathing as it draws even, to his mind as it empties, and within a minute’s time, Steve’s asleep, nose tucked against the hallow of his sire's throat. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now before we get started, I wanna draw your attention to the newly updated tags. Not in this one, but in up coming chapters, there's gonna be dub-con elements regarding Steve's instincts overpowering Steve's will. I'll do that thing where I summarize the questionable bits in the foot notes as these questionable bits arise. I'm sorry I didn't warn you right off, I honestly wasn't sure I was gonna get that far in this story. Thanks, as always, for giving me your time.

Bucky wakes up a little after sunset, which suits him and his plans just fine.

He doesn’t get up right away, can’t rightly bring himself to disturb Steve, who makes such a pretty picture, sleepin’ so sweet and sound against his chest. Instead, Bucky lingers and just watches his pup for a while; pets through his fine, golden-brown hair and threads the bleed with sweet nothings, which Steve’s mind soaks up like a hungry sponge. Kid sleeps like a rock, and Bucky can’t rightly blame him. His mind’s been put through the wringer, been pushed to its limits on top of still having to adjust from the turn. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if Steve just sleeps straight on through ‘til morning.

Bucky can hope he will, anyway.

As much as he hates to do it, sometime tonight he’s gonna have to leave Steve’s side. He’s gotta go out and hunt. Ain't nothing here but rats, and fuck him if he’ll have his pup’s first meal be a fucking  _rat_. What kind of sire would he be if he did that? A fucking awful one, that’s what. He didn’t turn the kid so he could make his life miserable. He doesn’t wanna give him food his new body will fucking hate, probably outright reject. Sure, animal blood can keep a fella truckin’, but it tastes awful and just all around ain’t a proper substitute for human. What Steve needs is human. 

Which means Bucky has to get up. Which feels like it should be a friggin’ crime. 

Bucky's gotta, though, so he carefully works his way out of Steve’s arms, and while that don’t wake the kid, it seems to disturb him enough that he lets out this whine what nearly breaks Bucky’s heart. Bucky hushes him, strokes him from his hair down across one narrow shoulder, impressing reassurance, convincing the kid best he can that he’s perfectly comfortable where he is, no need to worry, no, not at all. Steve settles near immediately, even gives a happy little sigh when Bucky tucks the blankets back around him. 

Buck can’t help it. He spends a few more minutes just soaking in the sight of him; his pup all curled up cosy in the center of Bucky’s bed, looking happy as a clam. Its almost hard t’think that this is the same kid what cussed him and glared holes into his head a just few hours earlier. He looks so different, all peaceful like this. He looks good. He looks  _better_.

 _This is the goal_ , Bucky tells himself.  _Gonna get Steve this relaxed while he’s still awake. Gonna make him happy._   

Bucky gives a short, determined nod. That’s exactly what he’s gonna do. He’s gonna make his pup happy, cuz he’s certain his pup deserves nothing less than the best. 

And step one is definitely finding him some dinner.

Bucky pulls on a fresh change of clothes—he’d stripped to his shorts and undershirt for bed and put Steve ina fresh pair of pajamas since, well, his clothes were a wreck. Shit, that’s another thing. He’s gotta get Steve some more clothes. 

Buck considers his options as he slips on his shoes and starts out of the apartment. Steve’ll be a little hard to shop for while his instincts settle—he can’t be around live people for a couple weeks, probably? Possibly? Shit, Bucky doesn’t know. And this is  _Steve_  he’s talkin’ ‘bout, so hell, he could have his shit under control before the week’s even out. Bucky wouldn’t put it past him. Kid's likely t'push himself when he don't gotta, which is likely t'lead into trouble. You don't fuck around with the new hunger. Bucky's gonna have to put his foot down about that, but make no mistake, he will. 

What Bucky  _should_  do is get Steve's measurements. Then it won’t matter if the kid can’t come with him—Buck’ll know what to look for, what to ask for. And he could always take some of his own clothes in, hem his slacks and alter a jacket or two. It wouldn’t be hard. Bucky’s had a good century’s worth of practice with needle and thread, and now that he thinks about it, he’s got that clunker of a sewing machine down in the shop. He’d been waiting for some reason to dust her off, and hey, here’s his opportunity. He’ll take the old gal out for a spin, show her a good time.

Of course he'll have to check if he ever finished fixing her, first.

Bucky’s nearly a block out before he realizes,  _Steve already has clothes_. Steve may have a whole apartment worth of shit that’s his own. He did have a whole  _life_  before Bucky found him; Bucky could just go and get his crap. Shit, he’ll have to move quick before anything happens to Steve’s crap. 

The whole walk to and back from the bar, Bucky reminds himself, he’s  _gotta_ ask Steve about his apartment. Or wherever it was he was living. He can’t forget that, he should go there as soon as  _tomorrow_. First thing. Very first thing, he’s going out and he’s getting Steve’s crap.

The hunt itself is nothing of note. Bucky’s done this so many times, he knows what he’s looking for. He knows what to say and where to take ‘em so no one’ll hear him when he snaps the neck. Tonight’s a thick bastard who Bucky finds throwing his weight around in a hole in the wall bar in DUMBO. He talks the guy into a fight out back and ends it quick and bloodless. Wouldn’t wanna waste the time, wouldn't wanna waste a drop. 

He’s shouldering the meal up the steps when Steve wakes up, which isn’t bad timing all things considered. Bucky ended up having to go a good two miles out, at least the kid slept right up to the home stretch.  

Now, up to this point, Steve has been happy and willing to be the exact  _opposite_  of everything a good pup should be. Possibly  _the_  least typical pup in the whole history of vampire kind, not that Bucky’s horribly bias or proud or anything. See, that term ‘pup’, it ain’t accidental. It ain’t an endearment Bucky thought up of all on his lonesome. Its what he was called when he was turned, what every consecutive new turn he ran into was called across the whole of his clan (when Bucky was still part of a clan).

It’s real simple; new turns are ‘sposed to act like goddamn dogs. The instincts are just too strong, it drowns out the higher functions and reduces every one’a them to needy, hungry, wholly-dependent puppies.

And Steve was like that at first. No, really, he was. Right after he’d been turned, he acted just like any pup should, convinced Bucky was the center of his universe and being close to him was akin to being close to God. He curled up tight against Bucky’s chest while Buck carried him home, sniffing shamelessly at his neck and looking up into Buck’s eyes with his all dew-y and outta focus, letting Buck know with every breath how devoted he was with wordless impressions sent along the bleed. Bucky ate it up, as was his right. He knew Steve would be different when the honeymoon was over. He knew he wasn’t gonna meet the kid for  _real_  until after his instincts calmed down, but there weren’t any harm in enjoying this part while it lasted. Hell, the way Bucky saw it, keeping close and giving the kid all the affection he was craving from him, it’d help them come out the other side of it with some  _real_  trust already good and built. Steve would know he could rely on Bucky to stick around, to care for and about him at his most base, and their bond would be stronger for it.

And a’course, when Steve woke up, he took one long look at their ‘bond’ and told Bucky he could go ahead and just shove it up his own ass. 

And really,  _seriously_ , Bucky couldn’t be goddamn prouder. God’s honest truth. He knew from the get go this little cuss was gonna be a fighter, had turned him just so he could  _keep on_  fighting, keep that the fire in his eyes burning long enough to really light up the world. He’d only had a quick glimpse of him in the alley, but it’d been enough. Buck’d knew what he was looking at. You don’t live as long as him and not get an eye for the real and truly extraordinary. Steve’s the genuine article. It’ll make him a fucking handful, but he’s worth it, Buck’s damn sure.

Really, the only qualm he’s got with the kid’s attitude is his knack for stubborn to the point of self-destruction. Steve’s honestly  _too_ damn liberal with his fire, he keeps burning himself and acting like that’s fine, like it’s a price he’s gotta pay if he wants to spread the fire anywhere else. Buck thinks he hasn’t had a choice before now. He had to stoke that fire hot as it would go and he’s clearly learned to live with the heat. It’s tempered him to steel in places, and that’s admirable, Bucky definitely admires him for that. It’s made the kid pretty fearless. Don’t make him less  _stupid_ or _reckless,_ but again, don’t seem like the kid had much choice. It was live with the fire or let it go out, and the kid gives a damn about his stupid fucking fire. Seems like if he didn't, there's no one who would.

Until now. Now, the kid has Bucky, and Bucky will stoke the furnace every chance he gets, ain’t a doubt in his mind. He’ll protect that fire, nurture it, make sure it never stops being a force to be reckoned with. What he will  _not_  allow is Steve to set his own stupid ass on fire in the process. Steve already came real close to being nothing but a flash in the pan. Probably picked the damn fight that got him a bottle to the gut for the chance to burn good and bright. It just—it shouldn’t  _have_  to be that way. Steve shouldn’t  _have_  to choose between burning himself up and not fighting at all. Bucky understands it’s a calculated risk and that it’s gotten the kid this far, but it  _ain’t right_ , its enough to break Bucky’s heart. He wants that to change. Steve should be allowed to trust himself _and_ be fearless  _and_ be ferocious  _and_  be fucking happy. 

Until he learns to trust that this is really, truly all Bucky wants for him, this thing they've got going? It’s gonna be a friggin’ circus. But they’ll figure it out. Bucky’s more than willing to earn the kid’s trust, and he doesn’t even need any devotion. Looking after him; that's gonna be reward enough.

So god _damn_ if he doesn’t feel like a grade-a fuck-up when Steve wakes up, realizes Bucky’s gone, and starts  _blaming himself_.

Faster than Bucky can get his footing back across the bleed, Steve’s already convinced he’s gone and run the guy off. Maybe, were it some other guy, he could live with that. Buck ain’t just some guy, though, he’s Steve’s sire, and he don’t think Steve knows what that means yet but it don’t really matter, not to the instincts whats been planted in him. According to those, Bucky  _matters_ , more than most things matter to most people. Bucky’s Steve’s new cornerstone. Steve’s been broken down and rebuilt with Bucky as his goddamn foundation, he  _needs_  him. 

And apparently Steve losing people he needs and being the reason they’re gone ain't all that new. Its enough of a pattern that the sense of  _not again_ permeates every thought what pops into the kid's head, all of them well worn arguments for why it’s Steve’s own fault he’s here, alone. Steve's abrasive and stubborn and mean, he ain't one for compromise, but he's so sick of this, of being alone and Bucky remembers the way he wouldn’t just trust that Bucky'd stay by him. Bucky realizes he was trying to protect himself from another round of heartbreak, cuz this right here, this seems inevitable.

And maybe if the instincts weren’t there and weren’t so new, so strong, it wouldn’t be so crushing. Steve's clearly done this song and dance before. Steve's lost people he's loved far longer for worse crimes than sticking up for himself, but the instincts are new and strong and crushing, and Buck can feel when Steve’s composure gives under their weight and shatters. It all happens so quick. Steve’s just too damn smart to not make these connections and Bucky’s too gobsmacked with surprise and worry to do anything but run full tilt up the stairs and into his apartment.

They have the same idea the moment they see each other, its just Bucky’s already moving and Steve’s gotta untangle himself from the sheets, so Bucky’s practically at the bedside when Steve’s up and pushing himself into his arms. They hold each other tight,  _so_  tight, and Bucky’s talking in his ear and in his mind in the most soothing voice he can muster 'round his own flood of panic. Bucky’s saying, “its okay, I’m here. I’m here, I’m not gonna leave you. I’ll never leave you, promise. Promise, Steve, I’m not. I won’t. I  _won’t_ , Stevie, its okay. You didn’t do nothing wrong, its okay. I'm here; ain't going anywhere. Yer okay.”

Steve doesn’t understand why he cares, why its such a relief that he’s put close to crying, and Bucky thinks with more of his faculties, this sudden dependence would terrify him. But the part of Steve what’s able to recognize this reaction as out of character is so small, so easily drowned out, that it never blooms into a fully-formed thought. The reassurance and comfort Bucky’s projecting ends up blanketing so much of him, and Bucky feels almost guilty over the way Steve just accepts it. Just slumps into him and takes the relief for something what wasn't even his fault in the first place. Bucky feels like he’s forced the kid into this. He hadn’t meant to, he doesn’t  _want_  this, but there ain’t much for it, now. 

Steve's special, but apparently not special enough, and Bucky can in fact get his devotion. Whether he wanted to or not.


End file.
